


The Caravan

by ester_inc



Category: 12 Monkeys (TV), Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Crossover, Gen, The Daughters (12 Monkeys), Typical Night Vale Weirdness, Welcome to Night Vale News Program Format, implied harm to honeybees
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-14
Updated: 2015-10-14
Packaged: 2018-04-26 07:06:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4994887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ester_inc/pseuds/ester_inc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A caravan of women has arrived to Night Vale. Who are they? What do they want? More on this story as it develops. Later on in our program, a representative from the Greater Night Vale Medical Community will address the early onset flu season. Should citizens of Night Vale be concerned? No one knows. In the meantime, let's have another look at honeybees. Beepocalypse: now or never!</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Caravan

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Pica and Liesel Schmidd are from The Librarian – Live at Skirball
> 
> 2\. If you haven't seen 12 Monkeys, pretty much all you need to know is that it's a post-apocalyptic canon where a pandemic wiped out over 95% of the human race, and by 2040's there are very few people left. Also, there's time travel. And alternate timelines. <3
> 
> 3\. I feel compelled to warn potential readers that there are some extremely questionable and misused P!nk lyrics in this fic, as well as several really bad puns. Read at your own risk! ;)

Time flees. Fear stays.

Welcome to Night Vale.

Keen observers may have noticed that over the past several years, more and more bees have been migrating into our community. Wise citizens have followed such observations by assuming that if it's anything worth noting, an official announcement will follow.

As you all know, the influx of bees has brought with it an abundance of fruits, vegetables, plants and other things of that nature, many of which, according to myth, hearsay and little else, are considered 'good for you.' 

But as the spokesperson of the Greater Night Vale Medical Community announced earlier today in a press conference held in a shadowy basement under the hospital complex, too much of a good thing is not, in fact, a good thing. "This is a clear health code violation," hissed the spokesperson, encouraging anyone who'd consumed more than the recommended, modest amount of leafy greens, reds, violets or yellows to submit to a blood test, especially if their meals also included a suspicious lack of meat products. "Just to be on the safe side," the spokesperson added. "Vegetarian diets have the potential to be very hazardous to doctors."

"Never mind the leafy greens," cried out Biz Morgan, who reportedly used to make a living as a blogger until an encounter with Leann Hart, publishing editor of Night Vale Daily Journal, made him reconsider his career. Several friends suggested beekeeping as an alternative, since his house and property had already been taken over by several hives living in loud harmony.

"The honey!" Biz Morgan screamed. "There's so much honey, and it makes everything sticky! It attracts vultures and small children!" He continued, hysterical.

His outburst drew the attention of Leann Hart, whose presence at the press conference was a surprise to no one. Witnesses say Biz Morgan, former blogger, hastily limped away soon after Leann Hart began questioning him on his commitment to beekeeping. She then took this opportunity to remind everyone that the $60 monthly charge for the Imaginary Edition of the Night Vale Daily Journal is mandatory, and that it's a proven fact that supporting journalistic tradition will improve your quality of life.

"Every moment is precious to those who know the value of time," she told the gathered crowd. "It takes very little effort and only a moment or two to check the currency rates in the financial section."

The City Council has since promised to make an announcement regarding the growing bee population, quote, 'as soon as we get this party started.' 

I have to say, as an impartial commentator, that I am happy this situation is finally getting addressed. The constant buzzing has started to get a little irritating over the years.

There you have it, and if by 'it' I mean bees, you have a lot of it. Find out more after the City Council has gotten their buzz on!

And now, a word from our sponsor.

Having trouble sleeping? Having trouble not sleeping? Are you awake right now? Are you sure? Are you sure you want to be sure? Do you want to feel your life slipping away one dream at a time? Do you want to live in uncertainty, walk through your days in a haze, build a life, a house, a family, never entirely certain of what's real? Are you interested in experiencing the ravages of time, the terror of your own subconscious, or learning the art of dying in gruesome and unexpected ways? Ask your doctor: Somnacin may be for you.

Listeners, a caravan of women has been spotted on the outskirts of town. 

"They came out of the Scrublands," said John Peters – you know, the farmer? He went on to describe them as "the regular sort, 'cept they had some unusually docile horse-like creatures pulling their carts. Asked me to trade some sorta herbs for corn, those women did, but I said, and you can quote me on this, Cecil, I said, ma'am, unknown substances gotta go through City Council. Especially the potentially hallucinogenic kinds. They're real strict about personally testing those."

It seems John Peters – you know, the farmer – then gave these visitors directions to City Hall, so that they could submit samples of their wares and sign some contracts in blood, in triplicate, in order to apply for a permit to temporarily remain in Night Vale while testing is underway, as well as an exit visa in case they wish to one day leave. Exciting stuff!

Speaking of exciting, this seems like a good moment to introduce our new intern, Katya Nguyen. Katya? Hm. I'm not sure why young people these days feel the need to wear clothes that are the exact same color as the walls, it's very difficult to – ah, there she is. Would you like to say hello to everyone? And perhaps consider wearing a patterned scarf?

She's shaking her head. I think.

Well. Next up: traffic.

If there are hundreds of paths all leading in the same direction, it doesn't matter which path you take, as long as it's the right one. No, not that one. Not that one either. A little to the left. There, that's it, next to the weird pile of rocks. Actually, the weird pile of rocks is blocking your way. You might have to get out of the car and walk. Sorry about that. I know you liked that car. You had your first kiss in that car. You hid from Street Cleaners in the trunk of that car. It was a good car. You were a good person. It's going to be a long walk, but you'll get there in the end, wherever 'there' is. Keep walking. Don't think about the car. Don't. Think. About the car.

This has been traffic.

I've sent intern Katya to meet with the caravan of women and report back. It'll be a good, easy learning experience for her, and as the old adage goes, experience teaches us fear, fear is the source of knowledge, knowledge is a necessary step in forgetting what we know, we are the result of all we've forgotten, and only after losing everything can we truly regret who we have become. Just between you and me, listeners, I'm not entirely certain intern Katya appreciates the opportunities we've given her here at Night Vale Community Radio, but I try to do right by all my interns, no matter how unsuited they may be for the job. Cultivating experiences in reporting, speaking and being seen will help intern Katya to take those first steps toward fear and regret that are so important in not only the professional world, but the screaming, struggling void we call life. You have to crack a few skulls to see what's inside, a wise man once said. We don't know who that man was, or perhaps we have forgotten. Good for us!

It seems that during traffic, Michelle Nguyen, owner of Dark Owl Records, left a voicemail on my phone. Let's listen to what she has to say.

[BEEP]

Hey, Cecil, it's Michelle from Dark Owl Records. I don't have any new recommendations for you because your taste in music sucks. The only thing we can ever agree on, ever, is that bee sounds are so mainstream. They're _everywhere_. Ugh, I can't believe I was ever into that. I can't believe I agree with anything you've ever said. Ever. If you tell anyone, I'll make you listen to North European punk played backwards in the middle of a snowstorm, and it won't be the good, third wave Neolithic punk that hasn't been recorded yet – it'll be the stuff _everyone_ has heard already. Gawd, Cecil, don't you know North European punk is dead? Anyway, we got a customer today and it was horrible. I'm almost certain just last week their tears had more flavor. Whatever. I don't even care. That's not why I called you.

I called to correct the misinformation you're giving out by mentioning your new intern's surname. It might give someone the impression that she's related to me, when she's _not_. She has absolutely no fashion sense, she refuses to try on the dragonfly earrings I caught for her, she's _so_ conforming, and the last time she was at the shop? I saw her looking at The Decemberists album. I _saw_ it, Cecil. Besides, younger sisters are so last year. Tell her to call me when she grows older than I am. Until that happens, and probably not even then, no, I don't have a sister, and I don't appreciate you giving people the false impression that I do. Have some integrity, Cecil. Ugh. I've discovered crying again. You know, everything old is new, that sort of thing. You wouldn't understand. I've been crying a lot. My eyes look really gross right now. Come by and I'll show you. Or don't. Whatever.

[BEEP]

Thanks for calling, Michelle! I certainly didn't mean to upset you by implying a connection that doesn't exist. It's probably just a coincidence. Coincidences happen. Not often, but they happen. I mean, it's not impossible. That's all I'm saying. 

Speaking of sisters, while we wait for word from intern Katya – who is not related to Michelle Nguyen and has probably never been to Dark Owl Records – let's have a look at an email from Pica Schmidd, the business partner and confirmed sister of Liesel Schmidd, who owns the auto body shop near Somerset and Gray. As you may or may not recall, a librarian escaped from the Night Vale Public Library earlier this year while renovations were underway, and it was Pica's brave actions and her decisive use of a blowtorch that saved her sister's life.

Ever since that night, Pica Schmidd has had trouble sleeping. She has nightmares even when she's awake. She finds fire comforting. _Too_ comforting. She now has two blowtorches hanging from her hips at all times. She goes through three packs of matches every day. She lights small fires in trashcans and mail boxes during her morning run. She has received understanding but stern warnings from Vague, Yet Menacing, Government Agency _and_ the Sheriff's Secret Police, reminding her that if she intends to continue with her growing pyromaniac tendencies, she needs to apply for a permit. Oh, dear. The brave, confirmed sister of Liesel Schmidd has been understanding in return, and feels very contrite about setting these warnings on fire.

Oh! It's always nice to hear from listeners, but it turns out Pica Schmidd's email also sheds light on one of our main topics today, the very same one intern Katya – who is probably and orphan and an only child – is supposed to be reporting on any moment now.

Much like John Peters – you know, the farmer – Pica Schmidd has seen the caravan, consisting of over a dozen women and two or three carts pulled by unusually docile horse-like creatures. Confirming earlier reports, she says that for the most part, they are indeed 'the regular sort', wearing acceptable sort of clothing in shades of cream, grey and tan, and carrying various weapons ranging from knives and bats to firearms. 'Armed to the teeth' is the phrase used here, which I take to mean that either they're carrying some of their arsenal in their mouths, or that they've filed their teeth into sharp points, better to tear into the flesh of their enemies – an old tradition, for sure, but not a dead one.

A brief interruption here, listeners. I've received communication from the Greater Night Vale Medical Community, and it seems that flu season is upon us. This time around, the warning signs may include cough, fever, chills and aches, headache, fatigue, nausea, breathing difficulties, respiratory arrest, internal bleeding, organ failure, and death-like symptoms. It's really difficult to say, based on this very brief notice, which is getting harder and harder to read as the red, pulsating light intensifies, whether there's any real reason for concern.

I'll return now to Pica Schmidd's email, in which she describes a brief encounter with the caravan and what appears to be the leader of these women. Encounter is perhaps too strong a word to use here. I probably mean something softer, like a brush. Pica Schmidd had a brush with these women, and during this brief brush with them, she caught sight of a black-clad figure. This figure did not have a hood, but it did have a long black robe, long black gloves, and a black, wide-brimmed hat that hid most of its face. I say most, but for Pica Schmidd it would have been better had that wide brim hidden _all_ , because as soon as she caught a glimpse of a pair of black eyes peering out from the shadows –

Well, it seems she blacked out for a bit, and when she came to, the caravan had passed, and she was on the ground, gently held down by four or five members of the Sheriff's Secret Police. Nearby was a bush, or what used to be a bush, or what used to be a member of the Sheriff's Secret Police disguised as a bush, which Pica Schmidd had unfortunately but very effectively attacked with blowtorches during her blackout.

She has to go away for a bit now. She says to tell her sister to keep up the good work, and for our community to _not trust these women_ , these visitors, these traders, because while they may seem ordinary, their leader is a black-clad figure with the eyes of a librarian. Granted, librarians usually have more than two eyes, but this is Pica Schmidd, who has seen a librarian up close and in adequate lighting. She knows what she's talking about. She goes on to say that the Sheriff's Secret Police have confiscated her blowtorches, every single match glued to her person, and even her emergency lighter, which 'didn't even have that much lighter fluid left'. She says that, appearing uncertain of the flammability of electronics, they will likely take her ePhone next. She wishes…

That's all she had time to write, hitting send even as her phone was pried out of her hands. We may never know her last wish. We may never know anything more about Pica Schmidd and her life than we do at this moment. It's possible, even likely, that tomorrow we will know less than we do today. But for now, let us remember her. Let us remember her bravery in the face of great terror, and the warning she brought to us at such a high cost to herself.

And while we do that, while we remember what we have just learned, and learn to forget it, and slowly come to regret it, I'll take us … to the weather.

*  


*  


*

An update on, well, several things! First of all, Michelle Nguyen, owner of Dark Owl Records, left another voicemail.

[BEEP]

Ugh. I'm not _upset_ , Cecil, I just care about _authenticity_ , like Minaj or Gaga or Wagner, or whomever. I don't care. I don't even know who those people are. I've already forgotten their names. Why would you bring them up? Shut up. And get over this caravan thing already. Women blah blah, trading blah blah, librarians blah blah, plague blah blah _blah_. It's all so 2043. It's embarrassing. I can't be seen with you if you keep this up, Cecil. Anyway, tell your intern I still have her stupid earrings if she ever decides to grow up. And stop playing my messages in your radio show. I hate radios. All the hip people are using microwaves.

[BEEP]

Michelle, I, um, I hear your concerns. For your benefit, and for the benefit of all of us, for alone we would not _be_ an us, I'll try to keep this next section brief.

Intern Katya finally made contact with the caravan. She spoke, or possibly gestured, with these visitors, these women, including their black-clad leader, who, by all evidence, is an ordinary woman and not a librarian. What a relief! Based on some earlier information, I'd become slightly concerned about having led intern Katya into a situation she was even less equipped to handle than I'd initially expected.

We were all fooled by the black attire, so reminiscent of the Hooded Figures in the Dog Park, and the eyes, so reminiscent of the many round black eyes of librarians. But listen, just because someone reminds us of a librarian, it doesn't mean they are one, and I think this is a good lesson for us all to learn, forget, and re-learn. This is the cycle of life, and that's all this caravan really represents, in the end. They came out of nothing, out of nowhere, and soon, certainly sooner than the administrative wing of City Hall would have liked, they returned to it. For us, they existed, and then they stopped existing. And one day, so will we all.

Oh, I appear to have skipped ahead a bit there. The caravan of women have left Night Vale! They took with them an abundance of fruits, vegetables, plants and other things of such nature that many citizens were happy to be rid of, as well as jars upon jars of honey. What they intend to do with those, I have no idea, but since they're all gone, well, it hardly matters. Well done, us. 

I have here a report from intern Katya, quoting the leader of the – it says here the leader of 'The Daughters' – whom she describes as 'an old woman, who is old and not faceless, but somehow she's young as well, you can see the years in the lines on her face except sometimes the lines aren't there, anyway, the old woman who is not always old smiles, and the smile remains even when the lines don't, and it's wet and red and sharp.'

Intern Katya does not specify in her report whether the leader's teeth were sharp, it only mentions the smile. When asked questions like 'who are you,' 'why are you here,' 'how are you here,' or 'what do you want,' the answer was, well, there's some confusion here. I'm sorry to say that intern Katya's report is not as comprehensive as it could be.

Hmm.

"Doorways," said their leader, who, it bears repeating, was not a librarian. "Time branches out. Time is something we all have, something we all use. That's what _we_ think, but stars die and are reborn, and no one asks them why. Time uses us. It moves around us in circles. No matter how much blue they feed us, we're all red inside."

That's actually a pretty good answer! It has depth, and words, and other things that you'd expect from an answer. It's like John Peters – you know, the farmer – said, they were just regular sort of people, those women, and they ended up helping us out with our little vegetation problem, too. How wonderful!

In related news, the City Council has come to a decision regarding the bees responsible for the overabundance of greenery. 

"We're comin' up," the Council members whispered in unison. "Everybody's waiting for us to arrive. We'll be looking flashy in our crowns of flesh, and we've got a lot of style, check out these velvet robes. Cruising through Night Vale, we'll be shootin' the bees. Everybee's dancing, and they're doomed unlike we."

There you have it, listeners, and what you have is a bee-free near-future. The City Council has declared an open bee-hunting season, and it sounds like they're planning to get a piece of that apiculaction for themselves. One person attending the press conference brought up the possibility of alternative, less violent solutions, like communicating with the bees via waggle dancing to suggest they find it in their hearts to re-locate, but they were shot down, so … we'll go with option A.

Moving on to news unrelated to anything, flu season has swept over Night Vale in its usual swift and terrible manner. An uncommonly small percentage of the population has been affected, and many victims of the epidemic are already recovering. Unfortunately, for a small minority of affected patients, the death-like symptoms become permanent. The doctors in the Greater Night Vale Community urge victims to sign blood donation forms at the first sign of the initial symptoms developing into something more serious, as obtaining consent becomes a much more difficult and bureaucratic process once the victim loses consciousness. 

Listeners, it has been an eventful day. Together, as a community, we have survived bees and press conferences, visitors and viruses, and together we have learned fear, gained and lost knowledge, and become different people entirely.

To the friends and unlikely family of intern Katya, who was among the small percentage of people who succumbed to death-like symptoms during the flu epidemic, we are sorry for your loss. She was a bright, young, difficult to see person, who was perhaps not the best fit for community radio, but who had a lot of promise in something that requires very little visibility. The Sheriff's Secret Police lost an excellent potential recruit today. She will be missed.

Stay tuned next for three hours of Michelle Nguyen, owner of Dark Owl Records, crying while huddling in a corner of her store's basement, hugging a broken record to her chest. Michelle, you will be glad to know that this recording was obtained from the Sheriff's Secret Police and has never before been played, or heard, by anyone.

Good night, Night Vale. Good night.

 

_Todays proverb: It's true that time heals all wounds. What they neglect to mention is that one of these days, time will cut open an artery, and you will bleed out in two minutes or less._


End file.
